My approach is stealth and he notices.
He looks up over his computer and down at my feet.
“Where are your shoes?”
I try to hide the sarcastic tone when I reply, but I can’t help what comes out of my mouth. “I didn’t want your ears to bleed from the clacking of my heels, so I took them off before entering. Your new rug will be arriving within the hour, which will be perfect because in half an hour you’re supposed to be in a meeting with finance, freeing up your office.”
He grumbles something and then goes back to his computer. Staring at the screen, he asks, “Why are you standing around? You have lunch with Maxwell.”
“No, that was already sorted.” I place the tray on his desk with a smile and tap on the list he gave me with the added checks of buy rug and get lunch. “Everything is done. Here are your Tom Ford shirts you love so much. Your parking spot has been repainted, your dry cleaning has been sent to your apartment, and the Hoosier files were delivered at nine thirty. Everything is done and taken care of. I also found you this delicious salad from around the corner with the thought that you didn’t bring a sack lunch with you, am I right?”
He sits up, leaning back in his chair, staring at the list on the tray.
“You spoke with John?”
“Yes, lovely man. Parking spot is all taken care of.”
His jaw works back and forth, and I know it’s stinging him that I not only decoded his list, but got everything done by noon.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some emails and phone calls to return.”
I start to walk away when Rath says, “There’s a cookie on my tray. I don’t eat cookies.”
“Try it,” I say, spinning to face him and walking backward. “It might help turn your crabby pants into something a little less . . . crusty.”
His brows narrow as he says, “My pants aren’t crusty.”
“Well, they’re not smooth, that’s for sure.” I give him a wave. “Enjoy, boss man crust pants.”
I shut his door behind me and smile to myself.
And the point goes to Charlee Cox. Hashtag winning.
Chapter Seven
RATH
“Good morning, Mr. Westin. Lovely morning, don’t you think?”
For the love of God. I shudder to the side as Charlee meets me with a warm smile.
Wasn’t ready for her greeting this morning, not after the gauntlet she ran me through yesterday.
The list.
The rug.
The food.
Boss man crust pants.
It’s all still swimming around in my head in one giant blur as I try to comprehend what has happened to my life in the last forty-eight hours.
I give Charlee a quick once-over as I catch my breath. Blue apparently is assigned to Wednesdays, because she looks like a goddamn blueberry.
Is this going to happen every day? A color theme?
I pinch the bridge of my nose while taking deep breaths.
“Breakfast is at your desk, fresh from the pot. Oatmeal with dates, raisins, apple, and cinnamon. I skipped the brown sugar, because we shouldn’t load up on sugar first thing in the morning. Those hearty oats though, they’ll get things flowing for you.” And so the barrage begins.
“Flowing?” I ask, walking to my office.
“You know, digestively. Which reminds me, I established your bathroom to be the one in your office. I added a candle, and some light reading material . . . you know, for when the mood strikes. The bathroom out here in the hallway is mine. Please don’t use it unless you want to stare at a basket of tampons when you’re taking a leak.”
Jesus.
Christ.
It’s way too early for this shit.
“We have a lot to do so best we get to your office and get to work.” She takes me by the arm and guides the way. “You look tired. Are you sleeping well? Do you need—?”
“What the fuck happened in here?” I ask when we walk into my office.
“Oh.” She lightly laughs. “Just a few things I picked up to make it more homey. Honestly, your office was like an asylum for the insane, and how you got work done is beyond me. And the chairs I have to sit in when we’re talking, they were incredibly uncomfortable. And don’t get me started on the lack of lumbar support. Don’t worry, I stuck with your dark, dramatic theme when picking out some new chairs, but also took it upon myself to add a few special touches here and there.”
“A few touches?” Is she insane? What I’m staring at is not a few touches. “It looks like a goddamn jungle in here.”
“Oh, now, now. Don’t we like to exaggerate. Noted. But no, it’s not a jungle. I told you Sir Dragomir had some cousins coming. I got you a few bonsai, as they’re very good for finding piece of mind. You can trim them how you want and name them. They can be your friends when you’re stressed.”
“I don’t want them in here.”
“Hmm, that’s a problem because they love it here so much. Just give them a chance.”
They will die from thirst before I even consider looking at them.
I sit down at my desk and look at the oatmeal she prepared. Shit, I hate to admit it, but it looks really good and smells like heaven, but I’ll be damned if I eat it in front of her.
From my briefcase, I hand her a list and say, “Done by noon. Don’t dawdle.”
She snatches the list from me with glee and says, “I would never dawdle. Oh, and when you’re done with your dishes, please be a dear and put them in the kitchen area. I may be your assistant, but I’m not your maid.”
She takes off and closes my door.
Out of all the people I had to hire, then fire, then I guess rehire (?) she had to be the kind who lives in a land of cupcakes and unicorns.
I lean back in my chair and take in my office. Little trees are scattered all over, a side table is against the wall with a sign, “Rath’s pruning tools.” I drag my hand over my face, wondering what all my business associates would think.
Bram would love it. Roark would laugh in my face. As I look around, all I can think is when the fuck does she sleep?
I pick up the spoon that’s next to the oatmeal, dip it in the bowl, and scoop up a decent mouthful. I plop it against my tongue and my eyes immediately fall closed as I relish in the delicious and blending flavors. Damn her for tantalizing my taste buds.
“Well, would you look at you.”
I step out of the elevator, still not used to her greeting me with sunshine and such cheeriness that I feel myself scowl right away. Being an introvert, I’ve developed a solid routine in the morning and it doesn’t include chit-chatting with my employees before my first cup of coffee at my desk. My mornings are supposed to be my time to collect myself at my desk for at least an hour before I even consider talking to someone else. That way, I’m mentally prepared and sharp on my feet for when questions are fired at me. Now it feels like I have to prep on my way to the office when I’m usually looking at my sports feed to relax.
But Charlee has changed that.
Not sure I’ll ever get used to being bombarded right when I get off the elevator.
Wondering why she’s grinning like a lunatic, I glance at her outfit and immediately realize the colossal mistake I made this morning.